Ride or Cry

RIDE OR CRY "You're telling me you walked in on your fiancé balls-deep in your best friend, and you didn't even throw a lamp at his head?" Jesse asked, leaning against the bar like he owned the place. "Girl, that's not survival. That's a character flaw." Maya blinked at him. "I'm sorry, who the f**k are you?" "Jesse. The fun one." He grinned, nose ring glinting. "You'll figure out the rest eventually. But seriously—no lamp? No shoe? Not even a well-aimed curse word?" "I was in shock." "Shock is when you forget your keys. Shock is when you accidentally put salt in your coffee. Shock is not when you catch your whole life burning down in front of you." He slid a beer across the bar. "You should've at least keyed his car." "I drove fourteen hours straight. I didn't have time to key his car." "Excuses, excuses." He shook his head, tsking. "You know what? I'm gonna need a full debrief. Every detail. I want to know the color of the couch, the exact position of the betrayal, and whether or not you cried in front of them." "I didn't cry." "Liar." "I didn't cry until I hit the highway." "Okay, that's acceptable. Crying on the highway is basically a rite of passage." He raised his beer in a mock toast. "To bad decisions, worse men, and the women who survive them." Maya stared at him for a long moment. Then she did something she hadn't done in days. She laughed. It was a broken, rusty sound, like something that hadn't been used in a long time. But it was real. "Jesse, right?" she said. "The one and only." "I'm Maya." "Welcome to Nowhere, Maya." He grinned. "Population forty-seven. Three of which are currently watching you from that booth like you're the main course." She followed his gaze and her stomach dropped. --- Four men. No — not men. Predators. They sat in the shadows near the pool table, arranged like a pack of wolves who'd already eaten but were still interested in the chase. The biggest one was a mountain of a man with a beard that could hide small animals and arms the size of her thighs. Next to him, a wiry guy with a nose ring that caught the light every time he moved — which was often, because he seemed incapable of sitting still. Then a quiet one, almost invisible until you noticed his eyes. Pale. Watchful. The kind of eyes that filed away everything you did, cataloging your weaknesses for later. And then the fourth one. He sat at the head of the booth like it was a throne. Thick neck, heavier build, but not fat — dense, like a tree that's been growing in bad soil for years and came out harder because of it. Tattoos crawled up his throat and disappeared under his collar. His vest said President in letters that didn't ask for respect; they assumed it. His jaw looked like it had been carved with a knife. His mouth was a hard line. His eyes were dark pits of something that looked a lot like violence waiting to happen. Then he looked up. And Maya felt it like a physical blow. His gaze hit her square in the chest, and she couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Couldn't do anything but stare back at him like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. "Uh oh," Jesse muttered. "He saw you." "Is that bad?" "That depends." He took a long sip of his beer. "You into dangerous men with control issues and a habit of collecting strays?" "I don't even know what that means." "It means you're about to find out." The president stood up. The other three went quiet, even the nose-ring guy. He came around the bar — his bar, obviously, because the tired bartender stepped aside like she was parting the Red Sea — and walked straight toward Maya. Not fast. Not slow. Just… inevitable. He stopped a foot away. Close enough that she could smell leather and cedar and something expensive. Close enough to see the tiny scar above his eyebrow. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body like a furnace. The heat made her skin prickle, her breath catch in her throat. She could see the pulse beating in his neck, slow and steady, like he had all the time in the world. "You're new," he said. His voice was low, raspy, like it had been roughened by years of whiskey and cigarettes. It vibrated through her, settling somewhere deep in her belly. Not a question. A verdict. A claim. Maya's mouth moved before her brain could stop it. "And you're a lot." Behind him, Jesse snorted so hard he almost fell off his stool. "She's got jokes. I'm keeping her." The president didn't turn around. Didn't acknowledge the interruption. Just kept his eyes on Maya, and she felt those eyes like physical weight. They traveled down her body, lingered on her chest, her hips, her parted lips. He was reading her. Not her face — her damage. The way she'd flinched when the door slammed. The way she'd positioned her stool to see both exits. The way she was holding that soda like it was a grenade. Because she was. Holding it like a grenade. White-knuckled. Ready to throw. She hadn't even noticed. "You're running," he said. Low. Quiet. Intimate. "Don't bother denying it. I've seen runners before. They all have the same look. Like they're waiting for someone to finish the job." Maya's throat went dry. "That's very poetic for a guy who smells like a leather factory exploded on him." Jesse howled with laughter from the booth. "Oh, I love her. She's staying forever." The president's mouth twitched. "You've got a smart mouth." "I've got a lot of things." Her voice was steadier than she felt. "Smart mouth is the least dangerous." "Name's Knox." He held out his hand. "And you're not leaving." She stared at his hand. Then at his face. Then at the three bikers in the booth who were now openly watching the show like it was primetime television. She should run. Every instinct screamed at her to get the f**k out. But her stupid, battered, hopeless heart was already leaning forward. "Maya," she said, taking his hand. His grip was warm, rough, electric. The contact sent a shockwave through her body, straight to her core. She felt it in her chest, in her stomach, in places she'd forgotten could still feel anything. "Welcome to Nowhere, Maya." His smile was slow, dangerous, devastating. "You're not leaving." It wasn't a question. It wasn't an offer. It was a promise. And Maya knew — with a certainty that settled deep in her bones — that she'd just made a deal with four monsters who would never let her go. "I'll get you a job," Knox said, his thumb tracing a slow circle on her palm. "A room. Protection. You work the counter. You stay out of trouble. And you let me handle whatever mess you brought with you." "That's very generous of you." "It's selfish." He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear. "I want you here. And I don't take no for an answer." She should have been terrified. She should have been running for the door. But instead, she found herself leaning into him, her body responding to his before her mind could catch up. "What's the catch?" she asked. "There's no catch." He pulled back, his eyes burning into hers. "Just me. And my boys. And the promise that no one will ever touch you without my permission." Jesse whistled from the booth. "Damn, Knox. You don't waste any time, do you?" "Shut up, Jesse." "No, no, this is great. I'm getting a front-row seat to the greatest love story this town has ever seen." He leaned forward, his grin wide. "I'm gonna need popcorn." Maya looked at Knox. At his dark eyes and his hard jaw and the way his hand was still holding hers like he was never going to let go. "Okay," she said. "Okay?" "Okay." She pulled her hand back, but she was smiling. "I'll stay. For now." "For now," he repeated. "That's a start." "It's the only start you're getting." He laughed — a real laugh, thunderous and surprised. The kind that shook dust from the rafters. His boys joined in — a chorus of wheezes and snorts and one low, rumbling chuckle from the quiet one. "Welcome to Nowhere, Maya," he said again. "You're going to fit in just fine." She didn't know if that was a promise or a threat. Either way, she was in. End of Chapter 1